The Grazeland Slave War
by CL Caudle
Summary: A legendary mercenary, Magnimoth Alexander Edinborough, faces a challenge as he goes from hunter to hunted, and back again, leading a mercenary army in the Grazelands of Vvardenfell.
1. Prologue

It takes a certain kind of _thud_ to catch my attention. A bag of fifty coins doesn't even register. Five thousand coins is hardly worth noticing.

"Fifty-thousand Septims." The man's voice was slightly high, a tenor. He sounded vaguely Bosmeri. Looking up, I saw it was an Imperial. a soft Imperial, one not accustomed to labor. One who was born into his money. The money he had lain down in front of me.

His eyes were a humorless shade of grey. I didn't like his eyes. his expression angered me. I waited for him.

The hierarchy had been stabilished. He spoke first. "I need you to fight an army." I almost laughed. People had asked more of me in the past, and I always deliver. My lack of surprise seemed to build his confidence in his "choice".

"Then what?" My answer was casual, almost friendly. Almost.

"Isn't that enough?" He said, his voice rather high with nervousness. After a few moments, he responded. "I need you to lead a group of mercenaries, all under my gold, to fight a rebellion in the Grazelands."

"I'm no tactician." I pushed the bag torwards him again. "I fight alone."

His voice suddenly tok on a more pleading tone. "I don't need a General, I need a leader." he started to speak again, thought better of it, then stood silent for several minutes.

His last sentence did make sense. The difference between a General and a leader were vast. But, that wasn't my true qualm. I was actually quite skilled at leading forces. But, the ingelligence of my "soldiers"...

"I want to meet this 'army' first."

He only smiled. 


	2. Army

The wind picked up. The blustery, rainy weather felt foreboding. Small droplets of rain hit my armor with tiny, high noises. Normally, I enjoy the rain - it is cleansing, refreshing. But...this rain felt cold. Small, biting specks fell across my bare face.

I looked around, vaguely impressed by the size of the this force. At least five hundred men, most Imperials and Orcs. There was also a large number of Nords and Redguards. Twenty Bosmer archers sat idly by a larger group of Orcs.

"Quite a group." Even I wondered if there was a sardonic touch in my voice.

"It took me a month to raise." His voice had a slimy, dripping pride in it. "Over a hundred thousand Septims were spent on these men."

"And yet, you spent half of that on me alone." There wasn't a hint of arrogance in my voice. I had made millions of drakes in my works. This wasn't really even a necessary job. It did sound interesting, though. "What makes me so valuable?"

Perhaps I was looking for a slight ego boost - no one can really tell. Maybe I was trying to talk him out of hiring me. I'm not sure why, but he certainly answered.

"Three months ago, you were on a mission in Vivec, the holy city. There, you were accosted by a pair of ORdinators who had decided you looked like fun to pick on.

"You killed two Ordinators in close combat."

I shrugged.

"You were unarmed."

I almost laughed. His delivery was perfect. How could I not? At the moment, it seemed almost trivial. I stood, towering over the Imperial, and faced my army.

Those words tasted too sweet for my liking.

"Who here knows who I am?" My voice was louder than I had expected.

"A murmer of acknowledgement (or bewilderment?) went through the crowd. One Orc even laughed, a choked, gurgling sound.

"Does anyone here question my skills as a leader?"

A dull roar rose up at this, and I turned to my Imperial "Associate".

"I cannot lead men that will not follow me." He nodded, and then stepped forward. His presence, although usually unimposing, demure, became taller, slightly more _there_.

"Quiet!" He yelled. He repeated it again, and again, until there was relative silence. "This man will be God for the next week to you." He looked around. The Imperials shifted nervously. "You will obey him for so long as our contract lasts, or he has my authority" -I raised my eyebrow at this -"To kill you. Understood?"

Silence followed. The silence of understanding, and not wanting to admit it. Then he turned back to me, smiling a rather indignant smile.

"You have full access to our Armory-"

"That won't be necessary," I cut him off, raising a hand. "I have everything I need."

He nodded, a slight smile spreading over his face. "As I figured."

I was beginning to dislike this man. 


	3. Khajit

The next day, my army marched.

The Orcs and Nords were the most used to marching. they never flinched in the long days of walking in heavy armour. The Imperials and Bretons, however, gave me a few problems...but nothing much.

We marched for three days, camping occasionally for a few hours at a time. AT our latest camp, I noticed movement in the trees, and drew my sword. I should note that I carry with me three weapons: A katana, "Angel Whisper",a wakizashi, "Angel Cry", and an ebony claymore, "Nightmare". I ddrew out the "Whisper", and called to the forest, "Show yourself!"

A small pair of glowing yellow eyes appeared in the foliage. Khajit eyes. I becknoed it out with my hand. It's okay; I am no hunter." I sheathed my sword at my hip. It slowly, cautiously emerged. It was a Suthay-Raht, the common form of the Khajit. He was shaking.

"What is the matter?" I inquired, striving to make my voice gentle and soothing. "What happened?"

It's look of terror increased. It's eyes bore into my soul. It's eyes, so felihne, yet so human. I saw so much terror. I heard myself letting out a low whining, almost sympathetic to it.

"What the-"

It bolted.

I turned, facing the Nord who had called out.

My look must have withered him, for he ducked his head, but I said, "Post guards, 4-6 hour shifts. Wait my for my return."

I turned and sprinted into the woods. I weaved between treees, using supernaturally enhanced senses to avoid slamming into one. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. They burned, it felt like acid was running though my veins. A branch slipped my perception, snapping hard against my shoulder. I could no longer feel my legs.

Until they went out from under me.

I stumbled, dropped to my knees, and rolled, finally stopping as I leapt up, the hilt of my katana in my hand. I realized that, in my haste, I had run into the woods in only my clothing, a katana on my hip, without armour.

I looked around. I reached out with my sense. I heard nothing. The most unsettling sound is complete silence.

I had come to fight an army, and I was alone. Standing alone in the woods. The imeprail had conveniently forgotten to mention that I was fighting Khajiit, if indeed I was. Khajit are known for their guerilla tactics.

Was this going to turn into a guerilla war?

I had lost the khajit. I turned, and began to walk back to the camp. 


	4. Tormentors

The next day, we marched fourty-eight miles. The Bretons and Imperials were beginning to truly get on my nerves. Their constant complaining and bickering with the hardier races was unbearable.

One day, as we sat eating our small rations (I shared with my soldiers the hardships of our meager diet), I noticed a Breton and two Imperials laughing at an Orc who lay on the ground. I casually walked up behind them, investigating. My vision swam red at what I saw.

The Orc had been blinded by a spell from the Breton. He had been trying to strike at them, but now was weeping.

My hand found the Breton's throat. soon, his feet dangled in the air. "Explain this!" My voice sounded guttural, vicious, animalistic.

His choked voice was filled with contempt. "Put me down unless you want to be next."

My hand tightened on his throat. "Don't threaten me with your magic," I said, my voice gravelly, thick with rage. My fingers were almost touching around his windpipe.

One of the Imperials slammed the hilt of his sword into the back of my head. I dropped the Breton, and he fell to his knees, gasping for air. the other Imperial struck me against my left temple, but I never even responded. I heard myself say, my voice not entirely my own, "This is it." 


End file.
